


gasoline

by kirstenlauren



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Angst, Child Abuse, Cigarettes, Comfort, Lots of Crying, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Self Harm, Slow Burn, Slurs, Underage Drinking, Violence, also connor is bisexual, get ready, high school!au, lots of comfort, lots of trigger warnings, no i'm jk, ok this one's got a lot of tags, sooooo much angst, sorry folks, sort of, sun don't shine in this fic, tears for days, there's a happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirstenlauren/pseuds/kirstenlauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor is broken and pissed so he turns to sarcasm and bullshit and fucking shit up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Song and lyrics are from Gasoline by Halsey. As usual, listen as you read.

**_are you insane like me? been in pain like me?_ **

****

The voice, deep and booming and mocking and vicious, echoes through Connor’s head.

 

_“What did I do to deserve a faggot as a son?”_

_“You’re the reason your mother’s dead.”_

_“You’re the reason.”_

_“You’re the reason.”_

_“dead_

_dead_

_dead”_

 

It goes on and on and on, an endless loop in his brain. The insults come flying in and Connor keeps trying to dodge them but he’s too slow, too weak to outrun them.

 

The voice haunts his reality as well as his nightmares at night.

****

**_bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me?_ **

****

Mostly, Connor was numb. He’s gotten used to it. He tells himself it has thickened his skin. Actually, he’d probably say he doesn’t give a shit. He’d shrug and throw back a sarcastic comment if anyone asked about the bruise on his cheek. He’d laugh it off if anyone caught him jumping at the sound of a loud voice.

 

But the way his face reddens in anger, the way he bites his lips until they’re raw, the way he clenches his knuckles so hard he draws blood says otherwise.

 

The way he grips his house keys to scrape across the windshield of his dad’s car says otherwise. (The satisfying, ear-piercing sound the keys made against the glass is like music to his ears.)

****

**_just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me?_ **

****

The way he smashes the car’s back windows with a baseball bat says otherwise. (Connor almost smiles at the symbolism of it all, considering he _loathes_ baseball and his father _loves_ it.)

****

**_would you use your water bill to dry the stain like me?_ **

****

The way he grabs a bottle of off brand tequila from his dad’s liquor cabinet says otherwise. He’s surprised this one’s almost full. His father took his drinks by the bottleful. (Obviously, Connor’s learned from the best.)

 

Connor rips the cap open, taking a large gulp, only wincing slightly as the amber liquid burns his throat. He takes another and another and his hand’s shaking so hard that the tequila sloshes against his face as he takes another sip, dribbling down his neck and onto the carpet.

 

Connor looks down, watching the little droplets cling onto the fibers. Then he leans the bottle sideways and pours out the remainder slowly, watching as the golden liquid flows like a waterfall and down onto his feet and the carpet with a splash.

****

**_are you high enough without the mary jane like me?_ **

****

Connor’s wobbling and swaying by the time he checks the time on the clock on the wall.

 

“I’m late,” he says to himself. School started two hours ago. But the thing is: Connor doesn’t even know what day it is. Monday? Friday?

 

Then he laughs, bitter and humorless, and lays back onto the couch, tossing the now empty bottle onto the floor. _I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care._ Connor watches it roll across the floor, eventually hitting the wall with a clink.

 

Connor thinks about how much of a fuck up he must look like right now. He’s barely slept in days and he can’t remember the last time he’s eaten a decent meal.

 

He can almost hear her.

 

“Oh, honey,” she would say, rushing over to him full of worry in her eyes. She wouldn’t be angry. She would cradle his face in her palms and her caring touch would be all that he needed to take away the pain: the nonstop, everlasting pain.

 

But he can’t hear her. He can’t feel her.

 

She’s dead.

dead

dead

dead

 

And it’s his fault.

****

**_do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?_ **

****

Connor wakes up on the floor (how much later he doesn’t even know), with sticky feet and a pounding headache. His legs are hanging over the couch and his arms are sprawled out at his sides, one of them wet from the puddle of tequila still sitting on the carpet, slowly seeping through.

 

And then something crashes into the side of his head, sending Connor sprawling into the side of the couch. The cool leather of the couch softens the blow but Connor raises his hands over his face, shielding himself from the next one.

 

Connor’s dad leans over him, his face an angry red. His lips are moving. He’s yelling, he’s screaming but Connor can’t hear a thing he’s saying. He’s half-drunk, barely conscious and the searing pain on the side of his head is taking up most of his thoughts.

 

And then – _wham!_ – another hit and Connor’s out cold.

****

**_do the people whisper ‘bout you on the train like me?_ **

****

Connor doesn’t know when he woke up. He doesn’t remember how he got up. He doesn’t remember going to the door and opening it. He doesn’t remember how he ended up two blocks away, sitting in the middle of the road.

 

He lays down, his body parallel to the yellow dotted line on the road. He closes his eyes, letting the sunlight warm his face.

 

He hears a car approach him. It slows down as it nears him, veering out wide in order to avoid hitting him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” someone yells out the car window before speeding away.

 

“Good question,” Connor says, his eyes still closed.

 

And then he’s laughing. He’s laughing hysterically and he’s delirious and drunk and his head really, really fucking hurts. He’s laughing so hard that his stomach hurts and he doubles over, the side of his head scraping against the road as he shakes with laughter.

 

“What a fuckin’ joke,” he sputters out in between laughs. He opens his eyes and stares out into the sky and the laughter dies down.

 

“Was I not good enough to stick around for?” he says to the clouds, suddenly serious. “A handful of pills and that’s just it? Then you’re gone?”

 

 “Fuck you,” he spits out.

 

When the sky gives him no response, he gets up and begins walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, okay, so Gasoline is my favorite song at the moment so I really hope I do this justice. The song makes me want to fuck shit up and there's nothing I want more than angsty Connor fuckin shit up so yeah, this happened.
> 
> This chapter is Connor-centered but don't worry, Jude will come in next chapter.  
>   
> Hope you enjoyed(or not)! Let me know what you think. Come talk to me on Tumblr: thiojames.tumblr.com.


	2. two

**_sayin’ that you shouldn’t waste your pretty face like me?_ **

****

The main reason Connor goes to school is to avoid his father. Sometimes, snippets of his father muttering about how worthless he is under his breath will replay in his mind when he wakes up in the morning. Then he’ll grudgingly get up and get ready for school.

 

Subconsciously, Connor still wants that validation. But then he’ll walk through those doors and regret his decision immediately.

 

Connor is well known at school, to say the least. He is known as being the kid whose mom killed herself. He is known as being the kid who wears the same damn pair of jeans every day. Eyes follow his every movement once he steps into the hallway. He hates it.

****

**_and all the people say_ **

****

Connor throws on a t-shirt he finds on the floor, not even bothering to check if it’s worn or stained. He grabs a pair of jeans, which is the only pair he even has. He’s not even sure the last time it’s been washed.

 

As he passes the mirror on his dresser, he stops to glance at himself. His hair is wild and unkempt with dirty blonde waves spilling over his forehead. He attempted to clean up the bloody gash on his temple last night but it’s still red and throbbing. He grazes his finger over it, wincing as he does.

 

He remembers his mother caressing the side of his face. “You’ve got such a nice face,” his mother would always say to him when he was younger. ‘The face of an angel.” He squeezes his eyes shut at the painful memory, not opening his eyes back until he’s faced away from the mirror.

****

**_you can’t wake up, this is not a dream_ **

****

A while later, Connor finds himself seated in his first period class. His teacher’s surprised gasp when he entered the classroom gained the attention of the whole class, whose eyes followed him as he took a seat in the farthest row.

 

Several students even turn to stare at him, watching him like he’s a ticking time bomb. Another student who is seated at the desk next to him, a boy with short brown hair, also takes a look at him, but not with judgment in his eyes but instead with curiosity. He quickly looks away when Connor turns to glare at him.

 

Connor is quick to notice that the brunette boy seated beside him is a bit of a teacher’s pet. The boy answers every single of the teacher’s questions quickly, with complete confidence. He seems so put together and to be honest, Connor is a little jealous.

 

Connor tries to pay attention, he really does, but he soon realizes he is so far behind that he is unable to keep up. This is in addition to the fact that some students still continuously turn back to glance at him.

 

Nonchalantly, Connor reaches into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. Not bothering to look around him, he brings the cigarette to his lips and lights it up, taking a drag.

 

Students begin whispering loudly at once.

 

“Mr. Stevens!” the teacher yells, astonished, from up front. “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

 

Connor doesn’t bother to look up but instead gets up, throwing his backpack over his shoulder, and heads towards the door.

 

“Principal’s office, now!” the teacher yells as Connor saunters out the door. The brunette boy watches as he leaves.

****

**_you’re part of a machine, you are not a human being_ **

****

Connor makes his way onto the football field, eyeing the bleachers as a good spot to smoke under.

 

As he crosses the grassy field, he gets an eerie feeling, as if someone’s following him. He whirls around to find the brunette boy from class trailing several feet behind him.

 

“What the fuck are you following me for?” Connor asks, stopping in his tracks.

 

The boy stops too, still several feet away. “I guess I just wanted to see if you were okay,” he says.

 

Connor laughs loudly at that. “Yeah? Go back to class, teacher’s pet. Aren’t you afraid of getting into trouble?”

 

“Yeah, I guess so,” he says, without a beat. “But I was already halfway across the hallway until I really thought about it.”

 

Connor raises his eyebrows. “You’re strange,” he says.

 

“I bet the same could be said about you,” the boy bites back. “Anyways, I’m Jude.”

 

Jude extends a hand out. Connor looks at it, rolls his eyes, and then turns back around towards the bleachers.

 

“I already got this far so I’m not going back now,” Jude calls from behind him, running to catch up.

 

Connor says nothing. He takes a seat on the grassy floor underneath the bleachers, not acknowledging Jude even as he sits next to him. He lights up his cigarette again and reaches it up to his lips.

 

After taking a drag, he reaches the cigarette out to Jude. He has no idea why he’s doing this. But the kid’s here and he seems so innocent and _good_ that he can’t help himself.

 

Jude looks at the cigarette for a moment, shrugs, and takes it. He lifts it to his mouth, inhales, and then doubles over in a fit of coughs.

 

“You don’t gotta breathe it in like that,” Connor says, laughing.

 

“How am I supposed to know? I’ve never done this before,” Jude says, wiping his watery eyes and passing back the cigarette.

 

“I figured,” Connor says.

****

**_with your face all made up, living on a screen_ **

****

Connor doesn’t understand himself. He doesn’t understand why he’s so willingly allowing this random boy to keep him company. He doesn’t have friends. He doesn’t even have acquaintances. But here is Jude sitting next to him in silence. It’s not even like the silence is uncomfortable. It’s comfortable silence and that alone is enough to have Connor on an edge.

 

“How come you’re never in class?” Jude asks, breaking Connor out of his thoughts.

 

And just like a switch, the wall is back up. “None of your business,” Connor snaps.

 

“Fair enough,” Jude says. “Can I try that again?” he motions toward the cigarette.

 

Connor hands it over and watches as Jude brings it to his mouth again, dragging it slowly this time. Puffs of smoke seep off the cigarette and out of his mouth, clouding the air around him. Jude catches his eye, causing Connor to look away abruptly.

 

“Don’t go thinking we’re friends now,” Connor says, getting up and taking the cigarette from Jude’s hand. “Because we’re not,” he adds before grabbing his backpack and leaving back toward the school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I know it's been a long time since an update! Inspiration has low these past few months but I'm finally getting it back. Enjoy! Comments are appreciated.


	3. three

**_low on self esteem, so you run on gasoline_ **

****

It’s silent for a few seconds and Connor let out a sigh of relief. Alone, alone, alone. Alone is the best for him as well as everyone around him.

 

But then quick footsteps against the grass cause him to curse under his breath. “Why not?” Jude asks, catching up and matching Connor’s pace. “Why can’t we be friends?”

 

Connor ignores him, taking a final quick drag of the cigarette before throwing the nub onto the grass and squishing it with his shoe. Already, he’s itching to pull out another from the carton in his pocket.

 

They walk silently along the concrete sidewalk that leads to the back entrance of the school. Connor would usually leave by going around the building and hopping a fence or two but he hoped Jude would stop following him if he went though the school due to his guilt for skipping. _Go for the weakness_ , he thinks. Connor pulls the school doors open, planning on zipping out through the front entrance.

 

He tried. At least he went to first period for a few minutes. Good enough, right? But now there was a bottle calling his name back home.

 

Students are milling around the hallway, indicating the switch between first and second period. Most are leaning against lockers in conversation with classmates. But it seems as though all conversation halts as Connor walks past in the hallway. Eyebrows are raised at Jude, who is still trailing behind him. “What is _he_ doing with _him_?” one student whispers.

 

Connor is seemingly good at ignoring the whispers but suddenly, a scrape of shoes, a grunt, and a bang against the school lockers has him turning around at the commotion.

 

There is Jude, shoved up against a locker with a large redheaded kid holding him in place by his hand on his neck. Two smaller kids are standing behind like his own personal army. “Nice nails,” the redhead says mockingly, grabbing Jude’s hand. “It suits a faggot like you.” Jude’s face is expressionless, as if this is something he is used to. Connor hadn’t noticed his nails before; one hand is painted bright blue.

 

Connor doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care and he turns back around, takes a step to walk away but then suddenly he’s stepping back towards them and reaches his arm out, punching the redhead square against the cheek.

 

 _Why did I just do that, why did I just do that, why did I just_ is the only thing running through Connor’s mind.

 

The punch sends the kid sprawling sideways, releasing his hold on Jude. He cowers on the ground, his hands cradling his cheek. His minions stand there confused, looking back and forth at Connor and at their injured master on the ground.

 

Connor’s knuckles are throbbing; probably bruised. He doesn’t look at Jude’s reaction but instead spins around to leave. Students are whispering wildly around him now but they’re all buzzing so quickly that Connor can’t make out a word they’re saying.

****

**_i think there’s a flaw in my code_ **

****

And of course, of course, of course faint footsteps follow Connor all the way through the hallway and out the front doors.

 

“Wait!” Jude calls. Connor ignores him, making his way down the sidewalk. He can see his house two blocks away. If only he could just snap his fingers and disappear and appear as he pleases.

 

“Connor, can you just—“ Jude grabs hold of Connor’s shoulder but Connor just shakes him off. “Can you fucking stop and just look at me?” Jude yells.

 

Connor finally stops and whirls around to face him. “What?” he spits out.

 

“Just… thanks. Thanks for what you did back there,” Jude says.

 

“I don’t even know why I did it.” Connor says. He glances down at Jude’s painted hand and then back up to his neck, where red marks replace where the kid’s hands were. _I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care_ but red-hot anger wells up in his pit of his stomach at the sight anyways.

 

Jude reaches out and takes Connor’s hand. His knuckles are red and swollen. Jude runs his fingers over it; goosebumps follow in their trail. Connor is frozen, too caught off guard to yank his hand away.

 

“Let me help you,” Jude says. He reaches a hand up to Connor’s temple, lightly touching the cut there. His other hand is still holding Connor’s, a thumb now rubbing the skin between his thumb and pointer. “My house is right there. I know there’s a first aid kit somewhere—“

 

Connor pulls his hand away abruptly and backs away from Jude’s touch. In response, Jude drops his hands to his sides.

****

**_these voices won’t leave me alone_ **

****

“No—no. I’m fine,” Connor says. “I don’t need your help.”

 

“Why won’t you let me be your friend?” Jude asks.

 

“Trust me,” Connor says, turning around to continue walking. “You don’t want to get involved with me.”

 

“How do you know what I want?” Jude says, following him.

 

**_well my heart is hold and my hands are cold_ **

****

Connor stops abruptly, facing Jude. They’re staring at each other for one, two, three seconds—and then Connor is leaning forward and pressing his lips hard against Jude’s. It’s aggressive and intense and Jude is frozen in place. Connor’s insistent mouth parts Jude’s lips and Connor’s hands are gripping Jude’s shoulders tightly but then Jude is turning his head and shoving him off.

 

“Isn’t this what you want? A quick fuck?” Connor says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Pretending you wanna help fix me up like I’m a goddamn charity case?”

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jude asks, his face blushed.

 

“Where do I even begin?” Connor laughs, bitterly and harsh.

 

“Why do you think I have some kind of ulterior motive? Not everyone is as terrible and manipulative as you think they are,” Jude says.

****

**_are you deranged like me? are you strange like me?_ **

****

“Just leave me the fuck alone,” Connor says. He turns around, walking down the sidewalk towards his house.

 

For once, Connor doesn’t hear any footsteps following him. For a split second, he thinks he misses the sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated :-)


	4. four

**_lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?_ **

****

Connor’s knuckles are throbbing a bit and his lips are a bit chapped but he can’t help himself from smiling, oh so slightly that no one else would even notice. He doesn’t even know why and he decides it’s best not to think about it.

****

He’s not sure why he kissed him. He would like to say he was trying to prove a point. He was angry and wanted to shut him up.

 

He’s kissed a lot of people in his life. He’s kissed a lot of girls. He’s kissed a lot of boys.

 

His first kiss was in second grade with a pretty girl named Sara underneath the biggest oak tree at the playground. And then in eighth grade at the winter dance, he snuck off with a pretty boy named Ryan and kissed him in the bathroom.

 

And then, it got a little less innocent.

 

On the night after his mother’s funeral, Connor snuck out to a gay bar and it was almost funny how easily they let him in. The bouncer sized him up, gave him a flirty smile, and then let him through. Connor wanted to get wasted and forget everything. He succeeded. The next morning he woke up in someone else’s bed and he wasn’t sure how he got there. He went back to the same bar every night for the next week. He stopped going after his father caught him sneaking back in the house with a middle-aged man. That morning, instead of waking up in the company of a stranger, he woke up in the bathroom after locking himself in there, hiding from his father’s fists.

 

So, the kiss with Jude was… an automatic reflex. Obviously.

****

**_do you call yourself a fuckin’ hurricane like me?_ **

****

Connor is still not really half-smiling as he nears his house. He notices a t-shirt lying on his front lawn. He picks it up in confusion, recognizing it as one of his own.

 

He scans the area and realizes all of his clothes are out on the lawn. His books, his shoes, random papers and pencils are all strewn haphazardly along the lawn and the front porch.

 

He drops his backpack and runs to the door, turning the handle in a panic. It’s locked and he rummages through his pockets, shakily pulling out his keys. He attempts to push his key into the lock but it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t fit, it…

 

His dad changed the locks.

 

Connor paces the front porch in a panic. He bangs on the door with his fists, his bruised knuckle wincing even more painfully with every knock. No response. He peers through the window; through the blinds, he can see numerous liquor bottles scattered on the floor but otherwise, the house is seemingly quiet with no father to be found.

 

He turns around and begins grabbing any article of clothing he can reach, shoving them into his backpack and walking away from the house, which apparently is longer a place he can call home.

****

**_pointing fingers ‘cause you’ll never take the blame like me_ **

****

Not even ten minutes later, Connor finds himself back at the bleachers. He snuck around the side of the school, taking his usual route this time.

 

He didn’t even check to make sure no one saw him; his mind was running a million miles. _Where am I going to sleep what am I going to eat What do I do what do I do what…_

And then he takes a deep breath and _I don’t care It’s no big deal I’ll figure it out I’ll figure it out. Like I always do._

 

It’s still the middle of the school day so Connor finds a comfortable spot to sit behind one of the bigger poles on the bleacher, shielding himself from the gym class that is currently playing flag football out on the grassy field.

 

\--

 

Connor spends the next hour smoking the rest of his carton of cigarettes before sneaking into the cafeteria and grabbing a few things to eat. He thinks he goes in unnoticed but there was Jude, sitting at a table a few feet away as Connor snatches a handful of cucumbers and an apple from the salad bar.

 

Connor runs in and out so quickly that he doesn’t hear “Connor?” from the table behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is super short, sorry! Lost a family member recently so it's taking a while to get back on my game. This is pretty much a filler chapter but no worries, this fic will definitely be continued and finished! Now that canon Jonnor is done for and Gavin is no longer filming for The Fosters, I feel a duty to keep the Jonnor fics going, hahaha. All we have left is fanfiction so everyone step up :p
> 
> Check me out on twitter @curvysivan! Also on tumblr at thiojames.


	5. five

**_and all the people say_ **

****

“Hey…”

 

_Nudge._

“Connor?”

 

_Nudge._

“Connor, c’mon—“

 

Connor springs up abruptly from where he’s sleeping on the ground; he originally fell asleep on one of the bigger horizontal poles but he must’ve fallen off sometime throughout the night. Jude is hovering over him with his hand placed on Connor’s arm, gently shaking him awake.

 

“What the fuck?” Connor asks, still surprised and sleepy. He notices a large bag in Jude’s other hand.

 

“Good morning,” Jude says, taking his hand off Connor’s arm and taking a seat next to him on the ground. He places the plastic bag in front of him, opening one of the Styrofoam containers inside it, revealing a small stack of pancakes and a side of hash browns.

 

“Did I not make myself clear yesterday?” Connor asks. He sits up, still trying to gain his post-sleep composure.

 

“Oh, no, I heard you,” Jude says. He nudges the remaining Styrofoam container towards Connor and scrambles for two forks in the bag. He stabs a fork onto one of the pancakes and lifts it to his mouth. “But I decided that I’m not going to listen,” he says, mid-chew.

 

Connor raises his eyebrow at him but takes the container anyways; the smell itself is enough to make his mouth water.

 

“I decided that we’re going to be friends,” Jude continues.

 

“You decided?”

 

“Yeah,” Jude throws small containers of maple syrup and whipped butter to Connor. Connor looks at him for a few moments before shrugging and peeling open the syrup and pouring it over his pancakes.

 

They eat together, silently. Jude doesn’t ask why he’s sleeping there and Connor doesn’t ask how he knew he was there.

****

**_you can’t wake up, this is not a dream_ **

****

Later, the Styrofoam containers are empty and pushed to the side. Connor is sitting against the pole; he attempts wiping his sticky fingers on his jeans to no avail, his jeans are dusty with dirt from sleeping on the found. He’s staring out onto the football field—he doesn’t know what time it is but it is early enough that school hasn’t started yet. It’s completely quiet.

 

Jude is seated criss-crossed beside Connor; they are close enough that their knees are touching slightly.

 

“I can get my own breakfast, you know,” Connor says, breaking the comfortable silence.

 

Jude is using the back of his fork to trace nonsensical lines and figures in the dirt. He looks over at Connor and smiles. “I imagine you could. So what?”

 

“So…” Connor glances at Jude quickly before averting his gaze back towards the school. “Thanks, I guess.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Jude says. “You know that’s the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me?”

 

Connor laughs. “Don’t get used to it.” He reaches over and uses his still-sticky hand to rub over Jude’s dirt masterpiece, leading to a “hey!” and a shove from Jude.

****

**_you’re part of a machine, you are not a human being_ **

****

Eventually, students start milling in the hallways in the school ahead of them. Almost immediately, Jude can sense Connor’s walls coming up again. His once-relaxed posture turns stiff.

 

“Isn’t it time for you to go?” Connor asks, standing up and wiping the dirt off his hands onto his jeans. “Do whatever teacher’s pet shit you normally do?”

 

“Hmm,” Jude looks at a nonexistent wristwatch. “I got about seven minutes until I have to suck Mr. Castillo’s dick for extra credit.”

 

Connor is left staring wide-eyed at Jude until Jude bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

 

Connor lets out a small smile but then he’s pacing, scuffing his sneakers against the dirt. “Just go, Jude.”

 

Jude doesn’t respond but shuffles through his backpack for a small slip of paper and a pen. He scribbles something down quickly before standing up.

 

Connor is facing away from him so Jude reaches for his hand, turning him around and handing him the slip of paper. “If you ever need a place to stay…” Jude says. “Or just someone to talk to. Or whatever.”

 

Connor glances at the piece of paper, which has Jude’s neat scrawl listing his address and phone number. He rolls his eyes but slips the note into his back pocket nonetheless.

 

Jude’s hand is still lingering on Connor’s and he lets his fingers graze against his before waving and sprinting toward the school, his backpack in tow. Before he makes it across the field, Jude stops and turns around.

 

“See you in first period?” he yells across the field.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Connor yells back.

 

Then Jude goes back toward the school; Connor stares after him until he disappears.

****

**_with your face all made up, living on a screen_ **

****

It’s fifteen minutes into first period and Jude has been staring at the classroom door for the past five.

 

_He’s just being usual Connor._

_He’s just late._

_Don’t be worried._

_Don’t be worried._

_I barely even know him at all._

But then ten more minutes pass and still no Connor and Jude is out of his seat and out the door, ignoring his teacher’s protests.

 

He sprints to the football field first: no Connor.

 

He checks by the large oak trees: no Connor.

 

He almost gives up and is walking down the hallway in defeat until he hears a sob in the boy’s bathroom. He walks towards the door, opening it slowly and peeking inside. Standing in front of one of the sinks is Connor with tears streaming down his face and a knife in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. This chapter is a mess. I don't know how I feel about it but here. At this point just accept that I'm bad at timely updates.
> 
> ANYWAYS yooooooo finally official word that canon Jonnor is over and Connor is gone. Ya'll. I'm kinda relieved tbh because I knew for months and I was just waiting for an actual announcement. It's so sad writing about a couple that is canonically DONE but whatever Gavin can find better than that mess. 
> 
> @curvysivan on Twitter and thiojames on Tumblr, come say hi and watch me complain about the Byerly's and co.


End file.
